


Smiley hornets

by clonesagainsthumanity, korskys



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Marble Hornets, Slenderverse - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Gen, Light Horror, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, So read at ur own risk i suppose, Spoilers for the MH show AND comic, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clonesagainsthumanity/pseuds/clonesagainsthumanity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/korskys/pseuds/korskys
Summary: A year after the terror of Alex Kralie and his (to put it lightly) failed student film, Marble Hornets, Tim Wright thought he was finally getting better. As it turns out, he was wrong, and what's worse is something is watching him.
Relationships: Jay Merrick/Timothy "Tim" Wright
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	1. Ch. I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Marble Hornets](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/625003) by Troy Wagner, Tim Sutton, etc.. 



> All chapters contain major spoilers for Marble Hornets the Webseries and Comic.

Everything is fine.

That’s it. The mantra that I tell myself every day to stay sane. The words stand like an anchor at the hinge of my mind, keeping my psyche stable as a sea of memories slosh against it.

I’ve gotten better, at least. It’s been a year and a half since I’ve even been in Tuscaloosa. I’d turned my life around (at least, sort of), and moved all the way to Georgia. But what still remains is the mantra:

_ Everything is fine. _

I wake from a night without dreams- which is an improvement for me- and wash my face off in the kitchen sink. As I do this, I try not to look out the window. Beyond the thin panes of glass I can see the woods that surround my home. At least, that’s what I can see when I'm not forcing my eyes shut and wetting my face with freezing water. For now, all I can see is the pale morning light through the crevices of my fingers. Once that’s taken care of, I reach into the cabinet to my right and grab my medication. Like always, I take them dry, nearly choke, and feel immense regret as I scramble to get a glass of water. I swallow again, this time with water, and the pills settle in my stomach, and I sigh. At least I won't be relapsing again any time soon, as long as I keep taking these.

I set the glass on my counter. Against my better judgement, I turn my gaze towards the window. Lush green trees threaten to claw at the sunny sky. It’s beautiful and terrible all at once. Moreso, terrible. Nothing is there, but the clumps of trees still cause my stomach to turn. My muscles tense. Everything is fine, I tell myself, as the warm August air makes the brush of the forest swing and flutter.

It’s been over a year since I moved out of Alabama. Over a year since I lost Jay, lost Alex, lost… everyone, basically. I try not to think about it, yet here I am, _doing just that._ I take my glass of water once more and drink the rest of it. The water tasted better in Alabama. This time, I put the glass in the sink, then wander into the bathroom.

Something has been watching me. I’ve had that feeling for a while. Like eyes are burning into the back of my head. I’m honestly unsure if it’s paranoia or if something has really followed me into this little town.

I felt it on my first day working at Kroger. I’d gone in early for training, probably about six o’clock in the morning. It was just me and this guy named Elijah, or so I thought. About an hour into training, though, someone showed up. I remember Elijah looking just beyond me, and his eyes widening, and him saying “Who the hell…”

I turned around, and saw no one. Elijah acted like nothing had happened. Just to be safe, I took three pills once I got home, and I tried to forget it.

I assumed it was some hillbilly or homeless man and moved on. But this has been going on since I moved to Watkinsville. I saw a guy I’d never seen before buying batteries and they literally ran out without paying when they saw me. I didn’t care that they were shoplifting (though I was confused as to why Kroger was their choice. We have a Walmart, man). I wasn’t even working, I just needed some milk. So, clearly something fuckity is going on. I can’t just move away again, though, because, well, I was lucky to have found this place, and I was supposed to be laying low.

Someone who’s ‘laying low’ _doesn’t move every five months._ I’d learned that from Jay.

Lately, I try to drive an extra mile before going home, to throw off any potential stalkers. I keep my blinds closed at night. And I take fewer walks through the woods. They used to be nice, used to clear my head, but after my relapse a few weeks ago they just make me feel worse. So, like always, I just tell myself that everything is fine and lock myself in my house.

Everything is fine. I turn the knob in my shower for hot water and take off my shirt. As I undress, steam begins to rise which tells me that the water has warmed up. I step into the shower (which is a whole ordeal because my toilet sits right up against the bath), and I do my business- my cleaning business, that is. I lather soap instead of shampoo in my hair by accident, I get it in my eyes, you know, the whole shabang. After about ten minutes the water suddenly becomes polar-ice-caps-dipped-in-dry-ice-cold, and I feel all of my organs turn inside-out, and I think, how long has it been since I showered? About a week, if I recall correctly. Jesus Christ. I probably smell like shit. It’s then that I decide that I should shave because If I haven’t showered in a week, god knows how long it’s been since I shaved. Why can’t I just be normal? I probably look like one of those coffee-drinking hipsters. I step out of the shower and immediately remember that I didn’t pick out any clothes to throw on. Whatever, I’ll just shave first. I grab the yellow razor sitting just below the white-painted medicine cabinet and a small can of shaving cream and get to work on my face. I did, in fact, look like a hipster. A very disheveled hipster.

Although this is usually the worst time to think, my mind starts drifting. I ponder, man, it sure was sunny today. I can’t remember the last time my house was that bright in the morning. And then I think, wait, why is that? It’s because I close the blinds before I go to bed at night…

I definitely did that last night, didn’t I? That’s the one thing I almost never forget, other than my meds. So why were the blinds open?

Um, shit? Fuck? That noise I heard last night, I thought it was a raccoon or something. Raccoons can’t open blinds though, they’re not that smart. Shit! Fuck! Now that I think about it, even the blinds in my bedroom were open. You know, the blinds hanging over my bed were open. That’s why I woke up so early. SHIT! FUCK!

It’s at this moment that I remember why it’s unwise to shave and think at the same time. I nick myself just below my lip, and this, combined with the deep introspection I’d just been having, brings me to jolt and drop my razor. I’m panicking by this point, scratched by some unknown attacker while thinking about an unknown stalker. I reach down to grab my razor, but it's fallen in between the toilet and my sink. I can’t reach it. And of course, I slip and fall on my naked, bare ass on the cold, wet tile floor below me. At this point, my fight-or-flight response has kicked in: fuck the towel and fuck the razor because this is probably life or death. I get up and run to my room, traumatizing any passerby squirrels on the way there, and I throw on some clothes: an animal collective t-shirt and some cargo shorts. It’s only by then that my heart stops racing. I look in the mirror, and I see a half-shaven, disheveled, wet man. That’s me. And I’m… alone.

The effects of adrenaline fade, and, instead, my rational thought kicks in. Thank Christ. As I'm cleaning up the water that I’d gotten all over the bathroom, I have a few realizations. If someone was really stalking me to kill me, then wouldn’t they have killed me already? They went through my house and meticulously opened every single blind in my house, on every single window, but they didn’t steal anything? And they didn’t kill me? I’d been stupid to think that I was being watched, or stalked, or anything like that. Here’s what probably actually happened: I fell asleep and forgot to fix the blinds because, hey, it’s already dark, it’s nighttime, and the morning will be a problem for future Tim.

Fuck you, past Tim. You just scared the shit out of me. Okay, so while I might- MIGHT- still be being stalked, at least they don’t know where I live. Maybe.

Now would be a good time for a smoke, I decide. I go back to my room and grab the pack of cigarettes sitting on my dresser, then start scouring for my lighter. Where the hell is that thing? I can practically taste the lung-burning nicotine and I can’t even find my lighter- except, oh, there it is, sitting on my bed (which is not a great place to keep something that causes fires). I smack the pack of cigarettes a few times, then open the box. There’s an inscription in small black letters, which reads: Caution: Cigarette Smoking May Be Hazardous to Your Health. Disregarding said inscription, I take one of the cigarettes and place it between my teeth. This and some fresh air will cool me down, I think to myself, and make my way outside.

I nearly bite through my cigarette because I find the door is unlocked. It turned so easily in my hand, and the door slid open, just like that. That’s… not good. But, you know, I live in the middle of nowhere, so it’s probably fine. Nevertheless, I have a cigarette to smoke and- oh! I should start some coffee. So, I close the door (making sure to lock it this time, damn it), and walk about two feet to my kitchen. I start a pot of coffee, enough for about 4 cups. As I’m getting ready to start being impatient, the phone on my kitchen counter starts buzzing. It’s my co-worker, Elijah- the same guy from earlier- and this is one of the first times he’s ever called me.

“Hey, Tim.”

“Hi. What’s up?” By now, I’ve taken the cigarette out of my mouth, and am holding it between my index and middle finger.

“What’re you up to? What’re you doing?”

“I’m, uh... just getting ready for the day I guess.”

“What’d you have for breakfast?”

“Nothing yet, but my cigarette and coffee are almost ready.”

“Cheese and crackers, dude.”

“No, cigarette and coffee.”

“Tell you what,” a pause, “Do you wanna go out to breakfast with me? I’ll pay.”

I look towards my brewing coffee. “Where exactly would we be going?”

“How about the Sunkissed Cafe down on Greensboro Highway?”

“Oh, hell yes, I’m in- wait, is there a catch?”

“Do you think you could cover my shift today? I have 1-8 pm.”

“Dude, this is my only day off.”

“I know, but… breakfast?”

“...Alright, fine, you’re paying?”

“Yes. Meet you there in uh… twenty?”

“Yep, works for me.”

“See ya.”

“See ya there.”

I shove my phone into my pocket. Yes, YES, free breakfast! This is a huge upgrade to cigarettes and coffee. But I’m still going to have cigarettes and coffee. It’s a staple. I pour myself a cup of coffee, drink it, have a long smoke on the front porch, and by then it’s time for me to head out. Elijah was already becoming a perfect addition to my contacts list.

Now: breakfast. 


	2. Ch. II

“Hey, Tim! I got us a table!”  
I looked past the lady who’d been about to take my seat to see Elijah waving at me. Delicious breakfast is only a few minutes away, I thought, murmuring excuse me and passing the woman. The air was thick with the smell of greasy, morning-suited goodness. I sat at the table.  
“Hey, thanks for this.”  
“Don’t worry about it man, I owe you one for taking over my shift. What’s up with your face?”  
“My face?” Some sort of primal instinct made me reach up and pick at the scab from my razor. This was the exact problem Elijah was referring to.  
“You- it looks like you shaved two-thirds of your face and then gave up.”  
“That’s exactly what happened to me.”  
“I- okay. I guess that's...” blink, blink, “that’s fine. I mean, it’s your face man. Anyways, I just want to thank you again for taking over my shift tonight.”  
“Oh, it’s no big deal. I’m getting free breakfast… and I didn’t really have much else to do, so…”  
“Well, thanks anyway.”  
I look down at the checkered tablecloth and grab the tab in the center of the table. It’s not exactly a menu, but it has what I crave most: a fully-fledged breakfast platter, eggs and bacon and biscuits, and orange juice. Holy shit, this is the height of luxury. This is so much better than coffee and cigarettes for breakfast.  
Elijah watched me with the appropriate level of concern for someone who said they gave up on such a simple task as shaving their face. We make eye contact. I notice that his eyes look almost yellow in the well-lit diner.  
“So…” he says, “You like Animal Collective?”  
Oh, yeah, the shirt. “Uh, yeah, actually. I don’t really listen to a lot of music.” Elijah sort of looks like the type of guy who spent most of his teen years up till 5 am watching ghost hunting shows. I can’t blame him. Actually, I should ask him about that. He’s my neighbor, if he stayed up late enough last night he might be able to explain why there were raccoons making very convincing break-in noises last night. “Hey,” I say, “Do you sleep?”  
“Every night.”  
“No-like- okay, that came out wrong. I mean, did you sleep last night- uh, good, did you sleep good last night.”  
“Oh… I, uh,”  
“Yeah?”  
“I haven’t slept yet. I’ve been up since yesterday.”  
“Oh.”  
“That’s why I wanted you to cover my shift, I…” he yawns as if I didn’t realize he was sleep-deprived already. Goddamnit, now I’m yawning. “I need to catch up on sleep.”  
“Did something keep you up, or…?”  
“Yeah, sorta. I just heard some-”  
“Gentlemen?” A new contender. She’s tall and dressed in an apron, and holding two glossy menus with our names on them (figuratively. If our names were literally on the menu, that would be terrible). Her name tag says Hello, I’m Betty! and it looks to be as old as she is. “Here are your menus. Do you want any drinks?”  
Elijah nods, “Thanks, I’ll have a sweet tea if you don’t mind. How about you Tim?”  
“Uh… coffee, black, thanks,” I grab my menu and set it in front of me.  
“Alright, I’ll be back in a few minutes with your drinks.” as Betty walks off, Elijah sighs. Don’t worry, Elijah, I, too, have social anxiety.  
“What were we talking about again?”  
“You heard, uh… noises? Last night?”  
“Oh yeah. Kept me up all night. I thought someone was breaking in.”  
“...Me...too… do you think it was raccoons?”  
“I mean… maybe, I dunno.”  
Silence fell between us. I mean, what was there to say? Oh, boy, did the raccoons unlock your door too? Yeah, those tanuki-ass motherfuckers opened all of my blinds, it was crazy, I kind of thought one of my ex-friends was trying to kill me, but then, haha, I remembered they were all dead. And then-  
“Are you okay? Tim-”  
Oh, shit, I’m coughing. Oh, shit, I’m coughing? The realization only makes me cough harder. I’m hacking up a lung or two while Elijah stares at me. He’s confused. Paralyzed by confusion, actually. And I’m practically turning myself inside out, hunching over and coughing harder than before. No, no, no, no. I am not having a seizure in this gentrified Denny’s. That’s not happening-  
“Your drinks- sir, are you okay-”  
Before anyone can stop me, before I can stop me, I grab my cup of scathing, boiling hot coffee and gulp down a mouthful. Regret burns like fire in my mouth and throat. I manage to huff out, “-Choked on spit-” and give her a weak thumbs-up. She watches and waits for my coughs to go down, then nods to herself, as if that was exactly what she was waiting for.  
“Are you alright?”  
“Yeah, I-i’m good. I’ll take the… breakfast delight-thing. Whatever’s on the card-thing here on the table.”  
“Oh, okay. How do you want your eggs?”  
“Uh- surprise me.”  
“...Al...right. I’ll take care of y’all’s orders then. Do you want some water?”  
“Yes please.”  
“Alright, be with you in a moment.”  
Whew. That was a close call. I only gave myself third-degree burns on the inside of my mouth and almost had a seizure but, hey, I didn’t accidentally order cheesecake or something (do they have cheesecake here?). Elijah was looking at me like things had just not gone well, though.  
“You okay, Tim? You coughed through my entire order, and that was after you drank the coffee.”  
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just…” But I can’t finish that sentence honestly. What the fuck is wrong with me right now? I’m making myself look like a complete idiot, I crushed my balls trying to shower this morning, and some raccoons nearly gave me a heart attack. What is going on?  
“Just what?”  
“I- fuck, I dunno. I guess I’m still adjusting to living here. I’ve only been here for a year, so…”  
“Where did you used to live?” He says in between sips of sweet tea; tea that is probably so sweet and lemony that midwesterners could only dream of replicating. I can practically feel my blood sugar rising with every drink he takes of that amber liquid. “Tim?”  
“I used to live in Alabama. Somewhere around… Tuscaloosa, I think. I dunno, it was a small town. I don’t remember much of living there.”  
“Sweet Home Alabama-”  
“That’s not funny.”  
Maybe he can tell that I really don’t want to talk about this, or maybe he just wants to change the subject, because he says, “Uh, anyway, again, I can’t thank you enough for taking my shift. Especially since I just need to sleep. Like, I don’t really ask for things a lot, so… I hope this makes it worth it.”  
“Yeah, it’s fine. Plus, anything to keep away from those raccoons, right?”  
“...heh, yeah.”  
Like before, we fall into silence. Maybe there’s just not a lot to talk about when you’re just coworkers who don’t really appreciate the candor of small talk, or talk at all. Before long, our waitress returns with a platter full of full plates. I can still hear the bacon sizzling as she sets my plate down, along with a glass of ice-water. The biscuits are toasted with a side of warm strawberry jam. The bacon is twisted into a greasy spiral of delicious meat. The eggs are over easy. I open my mouth to thank her, and suddenly I’m shoveling my face like I’m a loose owl at PetSmart in the rodent section. She seems to understand, and, after serving Elijah a plate of pancakes, walks off to tend to other customers. In front of me, Elijah picks at his food. He warms up to it though and digs in. We stay like that for a while, quietly, but ravenously eating our food. About half-way into our meal, small talk doesn’t seem so bad. We finish our meals discussing the weather, I order one more cup of coffee, and Elijah heads home after paying for our meal. I tip our waitress- it’s the least I can do- and I watch his car roll out of the little parking lot.  
How long has it been since I’ve had a real friend? My thoughts drift to Jay, but… I swallow my coffee and hold back a cough. Was he really a friend? If anything, we were more like… two people in an alliance. We had a common goal, sort of: Figuring out what the hell was going on, and… presumably putting some sort of end to it. We got closer towards the end, but…  
I never had the chance to really know him outside of Marble Hornets.  
I scowl and swallow my coffee; the hot bitterness is starting to bother me. Do I have time for a smoke before work?... No. No, I should head out now. I’ll save the smoke-break for later.  
Did we really talk for almost two hours? The time flew so quickly, like decades between each bite. Now, it was nearly 1 o’clock, which meant I have to get to work to fulfill the deal with my coworker.


	3. Ch. III

The best time for introspection is when you’re sitting in a Kroger at 7:45 at night waiting for your shift to end, when you live in the middle of nowhere, where the average person’s bedtime is seven o’clock. Truth be told, I’d been lost in my thoughts since I’d thrown on my uniform. I dread going home. I dread going home because, deep down, I know what raccoons digging through my trash sounds like, and it was nothing like what I heard last night. The frustrating part is- and maybe this is just a consequence of the passage of time- but I can’t even remember what last night really sounded like. I know what it didn’t sound like: raccoons, aliens, cars. But beyond that, I’m not sure. What if it really was that person-or, thing- following me? I’d given every customer a good stare, trying to see if there was anyone new, anyone who looked like a creep, but I barely know anyone here in the first place, so it’s a fool's errand. It’s not like whoever is stalking me is going to walk up and go, yep, I’m the one that lock-picked your door and opened all of your blinds, just to fuck with you, just for fun! Gotcha! 

The only comforting thought I have is that tonight, if I catch any sleep, I’ll do so with a knife under my pillow… but it’s not that comforting. I don’t want to hurt anyone else, even if it’s in self-defense. Would I really have it in me to kill more people? No. I wouldn’t. But maybe the knife would deter anything following me. Or would it? I don’t know. How can I know? A few hours ago, I’d drawn up some obvious evidence as a breaking and entering as raccoons! Fucking raccoons! The back of my throat starts to itch; I swallow; I cough anyways.

A few minutes later I’m in my car, swallowing two pills to keep from seizing. Maybe my relapse is still happening, I decide. God, I need to find a therapist out here before I really lose it. I reminded myself: everything is fine. And I start to feel a little better- better enough to start the drive home, at least. 

As I stare upon the dirt-road, dimly lit by my headlights, my mind starts to drift again. I lessen the weight I’m putting on the accelerator.  
Will things ever go back to normal? It’s a question I’d been asking myself every day since I found this town by accident. I was the only one left who knew, really knew, what I went through, and I can barely understand it myself. No matter how well I’m doing, I never feel normal. It’s like my past has scarred something in me, and now I can never be myself again. Deep down, I’ll never forget the sight of Jay’s dead body or the smell of gasoline as Alex burned my house down. I’ll never forget how it felt to stab Alex. I’ll never forget these things, even though I want to, need to, so, so, badly. And now I’m being followed, or stalked, or something, and I can’t help but feel that somehow it links back to that little town in Alabama. I’ve only just started settling into this new life, and already I was regressing into the paranoid lunatic I used to be. Everything is fine, but it doesn’t feel that way. It never has, and it never will, and I don’t know how much longer I can live with that. 

A few depressing thoughts later, I’m home. My wheels crunch against the dirt and grass as I park; the old car I was driving signs, and so do I. I make sure to grab my trusty pack of smokes and my pills. Once I’m inside, I lock the door- and triple check to make sure it’s locked- and survey the living room and kitchen which make up my immediate surroundings. Everything seems in order. The blinds are still open, nothing has been touched or moved. Yes. Everything is as it was before. I walk into the bathroom and clean it up, putting some clothes away, and rewarding myself with a smoke break by the kitchen sink. Was I this tensed up before? Because with each puff, my shoulders relax a little more. I think of the extra boost to my paycheck coming with the shift I just covered as my cigarette flicks sweet smoke out into the wood. With the open window, I can feel the breeze; it’s refreshing. 

My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Elijah. 

“Hey, how’d it go?”

“Fine. Get any sleep?”

“Ya :) I owe you one”

“You got me breakfast.”

“Ya but that sleep was like another level man. I’m gonna go back to bed.”

“Okay”

I set my phone on the counter. Maybe it was the fact that he’d just mentioned it, but sleep sounded… great. I let the rest of my cigarette die out on my lips and go to close the window, then the blinds. The glass distorts the light as it slides downwards. It even blurs out the stars, making them larger and messier, sort of like that one Van Gogh painting. It’s almost beautiful. 

And then I spot something strange, hidden in the woods. A little red light, sort of like the one on a camera. It blinks; I blink; I close the blinds and cough until I spit phlegm into the sink. Desperately, I take the bottle of pills from my pocket and swallow two dry. My throat burns from regret once again, but I have my paranoia to thank for once. It reminded me to grab the knife that I would put under my pillow. I grab a small chef’s knife and finally retire to bed. I hear cicadas humming as I get under the covers. They hum as my eyes close; summer may be ending, but her dying chorus is one of the best sounds of the season. Peace fills me- or, maybe, it’s just exhaustion. 

I feel like shit. My head is pounding as I roll out of bed. I had that nightmare again. It was about when I had that major relapse, but something was different this time. Jay was alive, and he was staring into me with huge, black eyes. Sort of like the camera lenses. He… smiled at me, and then was plunged into static. 

I realize that my face is wet. So is my bed. So are my clothes. Thunder rolls outside, as my blinds shuffle with the cool wind billowing into my room. My window was open. The one right above my bed. I lean over and press down on it until it slides closed. Dammit, it wasn’t supposed to rain today… and I’m pretty sure I never opened that window. In fact, there was a time when I thought it didn’t open. 

I think back to last night. I don’t remember anything to do with that window. Hell, I slept like a rock all night, other than the nightmares. I’m starting to panic. Was someone here while I was asleep? I grab the pillow that’d been the hiding place for my anti-stalker solution. My knife, where was it? It. It wasn’t there? Okay, that’s. That’s fine. This is fine. I check one more time. I even look under my blanket to make sure it didn’t slide there somehow. I check by and under my bed, and I even check out the window, but it’s just gone. There’s bound to be a logical explanation for this. I should just … get ready for the day, go to work, and forget this ever happened. Right. Yeah. But I’ll check outside the window before I leave. 

I stumble into the bathroom. Let’s just say, I look like shit. I manage to find my razor and I wash up and finish shaving. Then, I go back to my room and get dressed, this time throwing a brown coat over my Britney Spears shirt I nabbed from a thrift store and some jeans. Now it's time for my coffee and cigarette. I get the coffee going and eat some ritz crackers while looking for my pack of cigarettes. Let’s see, they were in my pockets when I fell asleep. There they are- in the pockets of my dirty cargo shorts. There’s a lot less of them than I remember, but it’s fine, my head hurts too much for me to care. I light it as I make my way back to the kitchen and open the window in front of my sink. The smell of smoke intermingles with the aroma of hot coffee waiting to Enter My Body (whether it likes it or not). I puff my cigarette and pour myself a cup of coffee; it’s as I’m drinking it that I notice my phone is buzzing. Must be Elijah. 

The phone rings as I touch it. Definitely Elijah. I’ve got two missed calls, some texts I don’t have time to read, and some voicemails and it’s only 8 in the morning. Yeesh, what’s made me so popular today? 

“Hey.”

“Tim! Finally, I thought you died. Where the hell are you!?”

“I was… sleeping, dude.”

“All day!?”

“It’s only eight in the morning, what’s the problem?”

“It’s eight in the morning, Tuesday.”

“What?”

“It’s eight… in the morning… Tuesday. You can’t seriously tell me that you were asleep for- for over twenty-four hours.”

Tuesday? Tuesday? There was no way… except, there totally was a way because that way was happening. I hear Elijah sigh. 

“Look, man, it’s… it’s whatever. I covered your shift. So you’re not in trouble. Just… I’m glad you’re not dead. I’m not gonna cover your shift again unless you let me know in advance, though.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“I said it’s fine. I gotta go now. You should start getting ready for work.”

As he hangs up, I can’t tell if I’m angry or just disappointed in myself. I was lucky to have Elijah helping me out, but there was no reason for me to just disappear like that. Yet, there was no way to have prevented it- I didn’t know I was tired enough to sleep for a whole day. 

The sense of deja vu that comes from this thought process makes the spit in my mouth taste bitter. I sigh a long drag into the cigarette, but my nerves stiffen nonetheless. My texts and voicemails are all from Elijah, saying generally the same thing as the call. One of the voicemails is from my boss, though. 

“Hey, Tim. Just checkin’ in on ya to see if you’re alright. Elijah’s coverin’ you today. Please in the future, let me know in advance before havin’ someone cover your shift, okay? Alright. Thanks, bye.”

It could be worse. I was lucky to have a boss that seemed concerned about me, even if I was missing work. I decided to call her back.

“Hey, Sheryl. Sorry for disappearing like that, I’m still not really sure what happened. Anyways, I’m gonna come in in less than an hour for my shift. Uh… I’ll talk to you later.”

I can’t shake the feeling that something very wrong was happening. Again, there was no way I was really asleep for 24 hours. Maybe, just maybe… I was still having a relapse.  
That was a terrible, but realistic possibility, all things considered: I’d been thinking of the past dangerously often, and, last night, I’d dreamt of Jay again. For the past few months, I’ve been feeling paranoid again, so that probably didn’t help. Yeah, it was probably a minor part of the relapse, but… it didn’t make sense. Usually, when I relapse, I wake up miles from home, usually bloody or otherwise injured. Other Times, I just wake up on the couch or something. But ever since I woke up next to the pond last month, things have been… pretty normal. I had almost thought the pond was just a one-time thing. But it couldn’t have been, right? Not if I had to keep taking more and more medicine to keep from having an episode, not if my nightmares are worsening, not if I wake up having lost a day of my life.


	4. Ch. IV

Okay. First and foremost, I have to get to work. I’ll just… act like everything’s fine, as per usual. Then, when I get home, I’ll try to figure out what happened yesterday. I’ll check the windows, and, hey, maybe I can buy some security cameras just in case, as much as I hate doing it. 

My plan set straight, it’s time for me to get ready for work. I’m pretty much ready, and since it's been over 24 hours since I’d last eaten, I should probably have a real breakfast. It is, as they say, peanut butter jelly time. While I finish off my cigarette and coffee, I prepare myself a classic chunky peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich. I even put it in the microwave for thirty seconds to warm it up because hell, I deserve it. It’s not as good as the Sunkissed cafe was, but it’s better than nothing, and I wolf it down with an eagerness I hadn’t felt before. Man, I really was hungry. Still clutching a bite of my sandwich left, I grab a travel mug and fill it with coffee. I grab my keys and head to my car as I swallow the last of my sandwich. It was time to make up for the fact that I skipped work yesterday. I just had to pretend to be okay with the fact that my front door had been left unlocked again. 

Despite how strange the morning had been, work was as per usual. I managed to get through the day feeling pretty normal, despite my worries about last night. It was a refreshing opportunity to take a step back; now, revitalized, it’s time for me to refocus: what happened on Monday? Last night- no, Sunday night- what was I doing? I light a cigarette. I remember being so tired after Elijah called me… I remember the little red light dancing in between the trees. Like before, I was throwing around the idea that I really was being followed. Other than what had been happening lately, everything had been pretty… ordinary. Not normal- not completely- but ordinary enough for me to act like a real person. But maybe that relapse had been worse than I’d thought before.  
I grasp at the wet dirt beneath my hands; I’m coughing up muddy water. What the hell happened? I’m soaked, I’m choking, and I’m covered in grime and algae, sitting by the pond outside my house. Was I… did I walk into the pond?  
I don’t remember how I got there. Just a moment ago, I was getting ready for bed, the sun was setting; now, I’m in my pajamas, having clawed out of the murky water, itching mosquito bites I definitely didn’t have before. 

I had thought, maybe, hopefully, that was just a dream. Just another nightmare. I remember going back to bed, only to wake up freezing and wet. But that had been the only time that something like that had happened since before I threw out that mask. I hadn’t been wearing it- of course I hadn’t- so I thought that it was just… a part of my recovery. Healing isn’t a straight line, I’d thought, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe that blacking out like that had been a sign of healing. I’d been feeling great until that relapse- I hadn’t even thought of Jay, or Alex, or Brian, or any of it for months before then. Now, the thoughts are plaguing me like they are now whenever I’m alone, and I’m blacking out again, and maybe there’s a chance that I’m not getting better anymore!

These terrible things in mind, I climb out of my car. What am I gonna do about this?   
Almost intrinsically, my shoes sink a few inches into mud as soon as they hit the ground. It wouldn’t hurt to go around the perimeter of my house, or even the yard, to see if there’s anything to discover. I can’t bring my shoes inside anyways, now that they’re covered in mud; might as well make the most of it.   
I pull my shoes out of the mud and make my way towards the front of my house. 

My house sits on a raised brick foundation, with weathered green stairs leading up to my front door. There’s an old bush that flowers in the spring and summer; little pinks blooms, dampened by rain, catch my eye before anything else. I’d never bothered to try and maintain the bush, but still, it was growing fine. Almost too fine- it was starting to take over my porch. Once again, though, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I need to move on before it gets too dark, so I make my way towards the right side of my house. Above me is my bedroom window, which is still open at this point. Below me is… a patch in the dirt that’s been packed in, sort of like something had fallen onto it. Could someone- could I- have fallen out of my bedroom window?   
That patch of packed mud had been the only clue I’d found outside of my house. By the time I was inside, the sun was starting to set; I leave my shoes outside the front door and walk into my bedroom. God, this place is a mess. I’d have a lot less trouble detectiveing if it was even moderately cleaned up. I start to make my bed, tugging my comforter over my stacked pillows.

And that’s when I see it. 

A little plastic mask, so hidden beneath old clothes and blankets that It was a shock I hadn’t stepped on it this morning. Though it’s muddy and old and a good chunk of it has fallen off, I still recognize it instantly. How had I not seen it before?  
It’s the mask. The mask from my days in Alabama. 

No, no, God no-

My vision blurs. I break into a coughing fit; one so extreme that I start to fall over, and I fail to catch my balance on my bed. Instead, I grasp at the blanket and it gives way until I hit the floor. I wheeze and gasp, and I take the mask in my hands. It twists and crunches but never breaks, never falters. Damn plastic.   
I crawl, desperately, to the kitchen, the mask trailing behind me. Fuck, my pills, where are they? They’re not there, they’re not in the kitchen. My eyes dart across the floor, but I can’t remember where I put my goddamned pills, and I’m running out of time. My head starts to spin, I’m choking on air, I can taste copper on my tongue. No, no-   
That’s when I think: Elijah. Whatever happens, the very least I can do is try to contact someone and let them know what’s happening.   
I dig my right hand into my pocket. There’s my phone. I take it out and slide open the keyboard. The numbers are all fuzzy and blurring together, made worse by my coughing, but I shut my eyes and manage to do it by muscle memory (or, at least, I hope so).   
I hear the ring, but I can’t get my eyes open-

“Tim.”

My blood turns cold and slushes straight to my core, making my arms and legs almost numb. I drop the phone. That’s not Elijah’s voice. This wasn’t Elijah.

“Tim, I know you’re there.” The voice growled, “I know it’s you. You thought you killed me, huh? Thought you could get away?”

I turn stiffly and lie on my stomach, struggling against the unseen but very well known force keeping me from moving properly. It was like my own body was taunting me, letting me hear Alex’s voice one last time before I slipped into the climax of my relapse. My lips open to gasp, and I taste the blood left on the floor from my coughing fit.   
“Well, I found you. And I’m not stopping until you’re dead, do you understand me? Next time I see you, I’ll-”

“-Amy, how much longer till you get here? This is really bad, he’s not waking up.”  
The man’s voice dips in and out of audibility, mostly due to the fact that my ears are ringing. My head pounds with one of the worst headaches I’ve had in a long, long time. On instinct, I groan, and above me I hear the man gasp.   
“Tim? Tim, are you okay?” I roll over and clutch at my temples- my head- “Tim- It’s me, it’s Elijah- do you need to go to the hospital?”  
The word hospital hits my nerves like a hot poker to the skin. It ignites me. I sit straight up (which my entire body protests immensely),   
“No, no.” My head spins. I lean back down onto the floor.   
“Tim, I- look, I’m… My girlfriend’s coming over. She’s training to be a nurse. If you aren’t gonna let me get you to the hospital, then this is the least I can do.”  
I blink hard as my head pounds. What the hell even happened? I can feel Elijah staring, wondering, watching me to make sure I wasn’t going to lock up again. He shoves his phone into his pocket and looks over me again.   
“You had a seizure, Tim.”  
“Look, I… water?”  
He purses his lips, “Okay. Don’t move, okay? Stay lying there. I’ll get you some water.”

It’s not like I can move anyways. Every muscle in me protests with every move I make… and then there’s my headache. Nope, no more moving for me. I close my eyes, if only to get some relief from the light bursting in from the window. It’s a miracle Elijah got here before I woke up not myself. That could’ve gone really, really bad. I try not to think of the different ways this whole situation could have gone. Instead, I focus on the pain throbbing through my head and the weakness in my arms. I don’t know how long it’s been before Elijah comes back.   
“Tim, you awake?”  
“Mm-hmm…”  
“Why don’t we get you to the couch, okay? So you don’t spill the water everywhere.”  
I nod. I’ve got this. But, since I’m not telepathic, Elijah assumes I need help. It wouldn’t hurt, I guess. He sets the cup of water down and brings me over to the leather couch sitting only a few feet from where I was before. He then looks me up and down, as if to make sure I’m comfortable (which I’m not; I’m in agony, but it’s fine) and then tugs his phone out of his pocket again.   
“She’s gonna be here soon. My girlfriend, I mean. Here.”  
I take the water he’s offered me and bring my lips to the rim. I swallow at least half of its contents.   
“So… can I… ask what happened?”  
“It’s... just a seizure-” I heave,   
“Just a seizure!?”  
“-Look, I know you’re worried, I appreciate that, but… this happens a lot for me. I just… forgot where my meds were, that’s all.”  
“Are you sure that’s all, Tim?”  
“I can’t-” I cough, “I can’t talk about it right now. I know you’re confused but I just- can’t.”

I know he’s hurt by this; just yesterday it was like I’d dropped off the face of the Earth, and now this. But to explain everything that’s been going on wouldn’t be right. It would probably just open up another can of worms once again, this time with a kid who was just trying to get by. Moving here was a terrible idea. With every move, every struggle against the inevitable, I’m just dragging more people down. It’d be best if I could just-  
I hear my door opening. Cold air hits my face. Elijah perks up and swivels his head to the left. 

“Amelia! Good, good, uh, you know my friend Tim, right?”  
I blink hard and my eyes refocus on the two of them: Elijah and Ameilia.   
There wasn’t much to describe them with other than the fact that they looked like a normal couple. Though normalcy isn’t something I’m used to anymore. She was a blonde, he was a ginger, could I make it any more obvious? I down the rest of the water and set the empty glass on the ground. As I do this, I try not to overhear the very obvious conversation happening right next to me. 

“Um, coffee guy?”  
“Yeah, him. Look, I- he told me that he slept all of yesterday, and then, today, he called me out of the blue. He sounded really confused, and, like, he wasn’t listening to me. He thought I was someone else entirely. And now he’s saying he had a seizure.”  
“How long did his seizure last?”  
“Uh, I dunno, he stayed on the phone until I got to my car, but he was just coughing. It must’ve been… three minutes… but- but I had to get in through his back door because this one was locked. So I guess, uh, five or six minutes.”  
“And you didn’t call 9-1-1!?”  
“No, cause- cause- I dunno, I just panicked.”

“Okay.” Amelia sighs and looks at me. I guess what she’s trying to do is look apologetic, since they’d been talking about me to my face, but instead she looks more constipated. “...I’ll talk to him, Eli.” she turns fully to me, then, swiveling on the heel of her shoe. Despite everything that had gone down just now, I manage a smile and a wave. What a great first impression I’d just made. While Elijah stands by the door and fidgets, Amelia sits on the couch ahead of me.  
“So… Tim, right?” She asks, scooting until her back hits the leatherback of the seat.   
“Um, yeah.”  
“You said you had a seizure?”  
“Yeah, it’s… pretty normal for me. I mean, not lately, ‘cause I’ve been taking medication for it, but… I just couldn’t find them for some reason, and… I wasn’t fast enough, I guess.”  
“Do you know where they might be?”  
“Um... ” In my cargo shorts, in my room. Fuck. Of course they weren’t in the kitchen. I should’ve thought of that before all this. Too late now, though, “They… might be in my room. I’m not sure…” I lie, in order to keep from looking like an idiot.   
“Okay, we need to find them. We don’t want to have another seizure anytime soon, I can tell you’re out of it as it is.”  
My initial thoughts are: No, I just look like that. Also, since when was this a ‘we’ situation? But I don’t know how to protest without sounding rude and I want to sort of makeup for the horrible impression I’d been making on her, so… instead, I just shake my head.   
“Alright, I’ll look-”  
“Do you really feel up to walking around right now?”  
“I mean…” I have to keep clearing my throat to keep from coughing; I don’t dare try to spit out whatever is sitting in my esophagus. I can tell that to cough up blood in front of this girl would be a very, very bad idea.   
“Exactly. Eli, you watch him, okay? Make sure he doesn’t move until I’ve found his meds- or, wait, Tim, would you feel better if Eli looked for them for you?”  
Be left alone with my coworker, or his girlfriend? Be asked way too many questions and have a complete stranger look through my dirty clothes, or have a complete stranger to keep me company while my coworker looks through my shit? This was an extreme lose-lose situation. 

Perhaps, though, there’s a chance I can still make things right with this girl in the minutes Elijah is gone.

“Eli, you wouldn’t mind… looking for my meds for me, would you?”  
“Sure. I mean, yeah, I can look.”  
Great. Perfect. Spectacular. The slightly lesser of the two evils.   
Amelia watched him walk off and then looked at me, the ruby-red of her lips turning into a frown. Oh boy. I was in for it now. I barely know this chick but she was about to give me an earful- or so I thought. Instead, she just sighs and shakes her head like she’s already made some sort of conclusion about me. Her eyes catch the window, and she purses her lips, as if to almost smile. It was a good thing she wasn’t smiling though because that would be weird considered all that had just happened. It’s like I’m bearing witness to her own moment of introspection. It’s something I dare not interrupt. 

“Okay,” She says. I can tell she’s been torn from her thoughts at whatever prompted her to speak up, “Why do I feel like I’ve seen you before? What did you say your name was?”  
Oh. Hadn’t been expecting that. “Tim Wright?”  
“...No… I must’ve seen you while visiting Elijah at work. That’s it.”  
I nod. Yeah, that was probably it, even though Elijah and I’s shifts didn’t line up most of the time, “Yeah, this is kind of a smaller neighborhood, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d seen me before and just didn’t think anything of it.”  
“...Yeah.” Amelia shrugs, “Okay. How long have you been having seizures?”  
“Uh…” I cough, “Ahem- sorry, yeah, I’ve been having them since I was a kid I think.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“...No… I don’t really have the best memory, so…”  
“Okay. Elijah said you moved here like a year or two ago. Who’s your doctor?”  
“Uh… Dr. Benjamin something, down at New Image Medical Aesthetics and Wellness.”  
“Okay, you should tell him that this happened. I can’t really do much, I’m not authorized- I don’t know why Eli thought I’d be able to help you. Sorry.”  
“It’s fine…” I’m not sure what else to say. Like always, there wasn’t much to say. I should heed her words and talk to my doctor. I could probably get away with contacting them through the text message system. Yeah, that seemed best. But first I needed my phone. So, I stand up-

“No.”  
“No?... Look, Amelia, I appreciate the help, but-”  
“I’m serious. I may not be a registered nurse yet, but I can tell you need rest. What do you want, I can get it.”  
I bite the inside of my cheek. Maybe this was actually the greater of the two evils.   
“Fine. I need my phone- it’s on the floor in the kitchen.”  
“I’ll go get it. Stay here, do you understand?”  
Grumbling. I lean against the back of the couch. Amelia looks me over one more time, and then, possibly deciding that I wouldn’t go running off while she wasn’t looking, nods to herself and walks into the kitchen.   
I lift my hands to my face and rub my temples. My head still aches terribly, bad enough for me to groan behind gritted teeth. So I was relapsing- that was very much evident by now- but I can’t for the life of me remember what had triggered my seizure.   
But I get a hasty reminder:  
“Tim, what’s this thing?”  
Amelia comes out of the kitchen holding the mask and my phone “I mean, I know it’s a mask, but is there a reason it’s just lying around? I almost stepped on it.”  
Fuck. Fuck. I couldn’t even get a word out before my vision blurred and my lungs burned and I folded in over myself like a damn lawn chair, coughing. I hear Amelia drop the mask as she rushes to my side. She throws my phone on the couch next to me. 

“Tim? Tim? Are you okay?”  
“I need- I need my meds, right now, or ‘m-”  
“Elijah! Eli!” She takes her hands off of me and looks towards where Eli had gone; I try (and fail) to compose myself in the meantime.   
“Elijah, did you find his medicine?”  
“Uh… I’m- I’m still looking for it- oh! I found it. I found it.”  
“Bring it over here quick- that’s what you need, right Tim?”

I manage to nod as I lean back against the chair. I try to keep my breath stable, but it’s difficult to keep from coughing. Christ, I can never catch a break can I?   
Elijah comes back with my pills and tosses them to Amelia, who pops the orange pill bottle open and hands it to me. Thank goodness.   
I don’t need to think twice; I down at least three (to Amelia’s very apparent concern) and swallow them easily before Elijah can offer me another glass of water.   
He watches me, brows furrowed, and I can tell he’s concerned. I guess it’s no surprise- the past few days have given him more than enough reason to be worried. Him and Amelia share a look- it’s not anything I can decipher, but it’s clearly important.   
“He’s in worse a state than I thought,” Amelia murmurs. She locks eyes with me; I notice that one of her eyes is much darker than the other, almost a brown, while the other is green. I know that the “he” in question is me.   
“What do we do?” Elijah turns his head, and, rather than staring at me, stares at the mask. I try not to look at it.   
“Tim, I think you should go to the hospital.”  
“No, no.” I grab my phone, “I’m- I’m really fine. This happens a lot-”  
“No.” She shakes her head, “No, Tim. This isn’t fine. You just had a seizure, you almost had another one.”  
I can’t help it. Anger pools in my veins like hot gasoline, only moments from exploding. I shake my head, and repeat, again, “I said It’s fine. I’ll talk to my doctor, but, you don’t wanna get into this with me.”  
Elijah runs a hand over his ginger buzz, “We’re trying to help you, Tim-”  
“Well, I don’t want your help.”   
Two pairs of eyes staring at me. I stand, wobble a bit, and shove my phone into my pocket, “Look, I… appreciate what you’ve done, but it’s time for you to leave.”  
“You called me to come get you!” 

“Well, I’m fine now, so you can leave!” I yell much louder than I’d meant to, “I don’t want you guys involved in my life like this- I barely know you!”  
Amelia shakes her head and starts to zip up her jacket, murmuring waste of my time. “Come on, Eli.” She grumbles. Elijah looks at me, then at her, then… back at me.   
“Okay.” He says. The two of them make their way out the door. I try to close the door behind them, and it slams against the doorframe. A result of my anger, I guess. I dig my hand into my pocket and pull out my phone. Now was as good a time as ever to call my doctor. 

“Hey, uh, I-”  
“You have reached the voicemail of Dr. Benji, MD. Please leave a message after the tone. If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 9-1-1.”  
Great.   
“Uh… hey, this is Tim Wright. Things are getting bad again. I’m gonna try to schedule an appointment with you soon, but, uh, yeah, just thought I’d let you know. Call me back, If you can.”  
One click later, I hung up the phone. I toss it onto my couch and look at the mask.   
There’s no way that this is the original mask. No; there had to be some sort of explanation, even if the explanation made no sense. The mask couldn’t just… appear without context…without reason... could it? I pick it up, and, upon closer inspection… I find no difference between it and the mask I’d thrown away over a year ago. It looks exactly the same, dirt stains and all. So, maybe this… is the original mask… but there’s no way. I know I threw it away and drove off on my way here. Unless I somehow put it back in my car or threw away the wrong mask, or something, then…   
Wait, why skip over that something part? Was there something else, something I wasn’t thinking about?   
Oh, yeah. There was someone perfectly capable of sneaking into my house, who had been watching me since I moved down here (probably), and whose intentions I wasn’t yet aware of. Maybe something had followed me back from Alabama. 

I need to check on Jessica.


	5. Ch. V

I’d hoped that leaving Alabama would be leaving the past behind me. However, lately, it seems like the past is only following me around. Jessica and I had been the last one standing after everything that had happened; I’d hoped that our parting would give her a chance to make a new life for herself. As it turns out, though, the opposite had happened. Probably, anyway.   
I need to get in contact with her somehow. Unfortunately for me, though, past Tim fucked up yet again and decided to delete her phone number. I didn’t have her email, either, and I couldn’t quite remember her address. If I want to figure out if she was my stalker or not, I had to drive up to Alabama and look for her. You know, like a creep. I have good reason, though: If Jessica really had followed me to Georgia, then it was clear that she needed serious help, and I might be the only one able to steer her in the right direction. I just have to drive up there and see if I can find her, and if I do find her, I’ll ask her some questions. It might take a few days, but it would be worth it to figure out what’s going on. Besides, it might even be nice to talk to her. Just a little.   
There’s one, glaring problem, though: work. I have two weeks’ worth of sick days, but if something happened and I was gone for longer...I wouldn’t get paid. In fact, I’d probably be fired after the third week. I’d feel kind of bad, too, because Elijah was already pissed at me and I’d just be leaving him with some other strangers to cover my shifts. I could wait until Sunday, that’d give me some extra time… no, no. This was important. I probably won't need any sick days like I need them now.   
Then come the questions I ask myself as I run around my house packing:   
Do I have enough meds to last me at least a week?   
Yes. Probably.   
Okay, but do I have enough money? Am I playing to stay at a hotel? I’m sort of poor, so I need to actually research shit before I just mosey up there. There’s a chance, a small chance, Jessica would house me if I found her, but that just sounds dangerous. Especially with this Jim Carrey’s The Mask shit going on.   
My life is sort of like a Jim Carrey movie. Not that funny, but very tragic. Like a shitty Shakespearean tragedy, the kind not even the most dull of teachers would force you to dissect.   
That aside...  
I don’t have a lot of groceries thankfully, other than canned supplies that aren’t going to go bad anytime soon. That means I don’t have to worry about all my food going bad. I’ll stop by Walmart and grab some essentials, and a camera of some sort. I’d rather not use the old ones.   
I pat around my pants for a pen, but my pockets are empty. I should have a notepad and a pen in my essential kitchen nonsense drawer. A brief search in the kitchen proves my little hypothesis correct. Grocery list time!  
Camera  
...Wait, why did I want a camera again? What was I trying to record? I had a camera if I wanted to go sightseeing, but…   
I crossed it out for the time being. Not important. Would only bring back bad memories.   
Non Perishables. Granola bars. A water bottle.   
… This isn’t working. I need to just go to the store. What was it, eight or nine o’clock? I could get away with stopping by the grocery store. Oh, I’ll need some cigarettes too. And if I could find a pocket knife, too, that’d be great.   
Knife. Cigarettes.   
Hmm.. Did I have a pocket knife already? I don’t think so, I’d used a kitchen knife last time… right, knife was not going to get scratched out. Looking over the list again, I can’t think of anything else I’ll need except for some clothes and other basic stuff. It’s about a four-hour drive to Tuscaloosa, so I’ll get some sleep and leave in the morning. I’d call in sick on the road.   
After all that had happened tonight, I’m exhausted. It was time that I head to bed and try to get some shuteye. This would not be an easy task, but, either way, my alarm would have me up at about eight o’clock sharp. Just like yesterday, I don’t bother to change. I’ll throw on some clothes later, before I head out tomorrow. For now, I’ll just slide my greasy ass into bed and close my eyes for 11 hours and hope something happens.   
As I wrap my scratchy blanket around me, I’m almost excited for my morning routine of coffee and cigarettes, because it means that a new day has come, and I will be finding some answers soon. 

I wake up at 4:00 AM, because of course I do. There’s absolutely no chance I’m going back to sleep, either, because of the nightmare I’d had.   
Basically, I stuck my hand into Jay’s bullet wound. Like, deep in there. I pulled out the bullet- could literally feel the blood on my hands- and I just sort of ate it. You know, as you do. God damn, I need to figure this shit out before I start to really lose it. 

By the time I had driven out of the neighborhood, it must have been about 4:25 AM. I have a suitcase packed with essentials, an itching for a cigarette, and way less sleep than I should. The drive to Tuscaloosa, Alabama would take a little over four hours if I was lucky (but, knowing me, my luck had been growing pretty thin), but after that? I don’t know where I’m supposed to be going. Jessica could be anywhere; she could’ve stayed in the same hotel as before, sure, but more than likely she’d moved away or something. Even if she hadn’t- even if she was still around- I had no good excuse to meet up with her again. I’d made it pretty clear that I had no intention of returning to Alabama and I’d cut contact with her a few months after moving. She’d be surprised and immediately suspicious about me being there. Maybe, though, I was just overthinking it. Maybe things would… be okay. I had plenty of time to think, after all. Maybe I could come up with a good enough excuse.   
There was something else, though. On one hand, if Jessica was the person following me around, then I could assume she had gotten sucked into everything that had happened. Maybe she had found the Marble Hornets Youtube channel and spiraled, just like I did.   
Except for a part of me is starting to think that there really is no one stalking me. I hadn’t seen them, other than that guy that turned up at Kroger once or twice- but even then, that could’ve been anybody. Assuming that I wasn’t actually being stalked, there’s only one other possibility, and that was that this is all in my head. Maybe I hadn’t thrown away the mask after all, maybe I’d blacked out just before then and grabbed it, and maybe… maybe… I had been losing more time than I’d thought.   
If that was the case, then my approaching Jessica would just make everything worse. I could just ruin the normal life I’d set up for her by showing up.   
Being alone with my thoughts was a bad idea. Why do I always do this?   
I let my left hand rest on the steering window and dig my hand into my pocket. My weight on the accelerator lightens; I take out a pack of smokes and a lighter and light a cigarette. I breathe in the smoke, and I feel my muscles loosen. Whatever happens, happens. I was already on the road. If I gave up now, it would just make for a really shitty evening.   
I just had to keep going. 

Crossing the border between Georgia and Alabama felt like crossing a much more theoretical threshold. As I saw the first sign denoting my passage into the state, I felt myself grip the steering wheel a little tighter.   
That was hours ago, but I still feel uneasy driving through here. The feeling is almost overwhelming, and I certainly feel more uncomfortable than impressed with myself for making it this far. The sun is starting to come up. I blink hard to keep from falling asleep as I drive; there’s more people on the road now, I wouldn’t be the only casualty if I were to… pass out.   
I don’t want to think about it. I’ll just have to stay awake. I’ll be able to catch some shut-eye soon. I’m only about an hour away.


End file.
